


Sherlock and John's realization

by Xxthedoctorswife89xX



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, M/M, Oral Sex, Questioning Sexuality, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xxthedoctorswife89xX/pseuds/Xxthedoctorswife89xX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is on drugs and John wants to know why. But Sherlock doesn't know the answer and John won't like it. What happens when they both figure it out? Please comment!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A slip of the needle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's changed?

From the very moment he tore that bomb off John, from the very moment he felt that wave of relief wash over him, Sherlock knew something had changed. Sherlock had never much cared for people. In fact, he never cared for people for at all. All Sherlock cared about was his work. Oh, John liked to think he saw some humanity in Sherlock. Liked to think Sherlock cared for the people whose lives he saved. But that wasn't about saving lives, it was about the Game. But when John stepped out onto that pool deck and revealed the bomb Moriarty had strapped to his chest, concern hit Sherlock like a brick wall. He could have killed Moriarty thirty different ways, he would have. But John's certain death made him hesitate, and that hesitation allowed Moriarty to escape. Why? Why did Sherlock care whether John Watson lived or died?

It had been a month since that fateful night when the maddest man Sherlock had ever come in contact with escaped. 32 days, actually. And Sherlock had spent every single one of them pondering what in the hell it was about John Watson that had caused him to care. John was kind, sure. But Sherlock had known kind men before. Kindness never seemed to matter to Sherlock, it was usually irrelevant to the facts of the case whether or not the victim or the suspect or Sherlock himself were kind. And John was smart. As smart as any ordinary man could be, at least. He was a wonderful doctor who knew so much about the human body. He would have to, to piece together men broken and bloody and burned by war. But Sherlock reckoned he could do the same if he'd ever felt the inclination to attend medical school. John was loyal, loyal to a fault really. Another trait Sherlock had never felt necessary. But he had decided he rather liked having someone around that was so loyal to him. It made him feel more responsibility to be careful in regards to his own safety. So how could an ordinary man like John Watson with perfectly ordinary traits, cause Sherlock so much concern that he'd let Moriarty win the game and get away?

Sherlock sat in his apartment at 221B Baker Street, cigarette burning in his hand, staring at John's empty chair. John was out doing the shopping, which he always did when Sherlock was like this: sitting there, staring at nothing, thinking. Sherlock had been doing that a lot lately. John assumed that Sherlock was considering Moriarty. Considering how to get the epitome of evil genius back into their grasp. He had no idea that in fact, he was the subject of Sherlock's obsession. That these new and horrible feelings of concern over someone's safety, his safety, were driving the genius mad. No. This was no good. Think, Sherlock, think! Why is John's saferty so important all of a sudden?

John came in the door, then, jarring Sherlock. That's another new development, Sherlock observed. John's absence and reappearance were something that usually went by Sherlock unnoticed. But ever since that night, John's absence was accutely felt and his reappearance brought a sense of relief. That was a fact that did not go unnoticed. John's whereabouts were at the forefront of Sherlock's mind, where James Moriarty ought to be instead. "I got the butter you like, even though I find it quite repulsive," John said, setting the shopping on the floor of the kitchen because the counters were full with Sherlock's experiments. "I also got you some nicotine patches. You were doing so well, why'd you take up the smoking again?" Thoughtful, Sherlock thought. I'll add that to my considerations concerning John. No. This had to stop. He had to get his mind off John. And when you're a genius who makes deductions constantly and find it impossible to stop, there is only one way to clear your mind. Without a word to John, Sherlock grabbed his coat and headed out the door. 

The needle shook a bit on the way into his arm, leaving a slight bruise. He would have to remember to come up with a story for that later. For now, he was reveling in the feeling of heroin coarsing through his veins. More importantly, in the feeling of it coating his brain. For the first time in 32 days, Sherlock could focus on important matters, not John Wats-his-name. Like, the way his feet felt funny when they hit the pavement. Or the way home seemed much further away than he remembered. Or how nice John's hair looked in the mornings. No. That wasn't right, was it? Damn!

As Sherlock fiddled with the lock at 221B and damn near fell through the door, John came running to help. "Jesus, Sherlock, are you drunk?"  
"Hmm? Drunk? Oh, yes! I...am..drunk. Excellent deduction, John. I fancied a drink or two down the pub, I did. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go have a bath." Sherlock removed his jacket, forgetting entirely the bruise blackening on his arm. "Sherlock, what the hell is that?" John asked, grabbing hold of Sherlock's wrist to turn him round. "I gave blood." "You got drunk and gave blood? Are they taking alcohol laced blood now?" "No. I gave blood, then I went down the pub." "Well, there you go, you bloody git! No wonder you got drunk off one or two drinks. You're not supposed to drink after giving blood!"  
"Endless apologies, Doctor Watson. I shall keep that in mind." And with that, Sherlock slowly made his way toward the bath.


	2. What's happening to me, John?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out about the drug use and confronts Sherlock.

The next morning, Sherlock awoke face down on the couch. The trouble was, he didn't know how he got there. The last thing he remembered was walking home. "Good morning, sunshine," he heard John say from the kitchen. "I wouldn't stand too quickly if I were you. I found you passed out in the bathtub last night and I had to carry you out here so I could keep an eye on you. You're quite naked under that  
blanket." "Passed out?" Sherlock asked as John came into the room with a tray of tea and biscuits. "Yes. I went to check on you after you had been in the bath for quite a while and found you with only your nose above water. I certainly hope you have learned not to drink on a low red blood cell count."  
"Low red blood...ohhhh. Yes. Yes, I have definitely learned my lesson. Thankyou, John. I think I'll just go put some clothes on." 

Later, Sherlock was sitting staring at nothing again. He would have been staring at John's chair but John was sitting in it and he had made it quite clear that it "creeped him out" when Sherlock stared at him for hours. Once again, Sherlock was stumped. This was not a feeling he handled well. What's changed, Sherlock? he thought. What is different? Why would you allow one man's life to stop you catching Moriarty? God! I just need one more day. One more day to get John Watson out of my head. He went to his room and fished out his kit from the hiding place he had cut into his mattress. Anderson and LeStrade never flipped his mattress. Morons. Tourniquet on, and Sherlock got off. As the drug worked its tendrils into him, Sherlock grabbed his violin and started to play a low, melancholy tune until he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Sherlock awoke feeling relaxed and ready to find Moriarty. It suddenly seemed very important to catch him and make sure people were safe. Odd. However, when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by John Watson sitting in a chair next to his bed. "Hello," John said. He seemed angry. But not in the way he was usually angry at Sherlock. He did not yell, he did not kick the chair or throw anything. No, this was worse. This was quiet, controlled. Like he had had time to practice this moment. Sherlock sat up and promptly noticed that he felt nude. He tentatively lifted the sheet and indeed, he was. Funny, though. He distinctly remembered falling asleep fully clothed. "John, what's going on?" "I had a good think last night and I thought maybe we could have a chat about it." Sherlock wanted to make a joke about John's excitement over a good think but thought it would earn him a good punch.  
"I came in here last night to check on you." 

"Oh?"  
"Yes. You came in here around 11 am and never reemerged. I figured you were hungover and needed to sleep it off. But 14 hours later I grew concerned and knew you should eat so I jimmied your lock and brought you some take-away. Then I saw the bruise on your arm. I thought I would clean the puncture up a bit since it looked as though the nurse had never taken blood in her life. But when I went to do so, I noticed the size of the puncture doesn't match the size of the needle usually used for taking blood." Sherlock raised his brows at this as though deduction were something he never envisioned John to be capable of. "Doctor, remember?" said John. "Then I realized that you said you had gone down the pub. But you didn't smell like a pub when you came back, and I certainly didn't smell alcohol on your breath. So I decided to do some checking. I took off your clothes and searched your body and guess what I found? Another funny little bruise in between the toes on your left foot. Want to know what I have deduced, Oh Great Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlocks stomach had been making its way up his throat the whole time John was talking, but at that sarcastic remark he suddenly stood to leave. "Doctor Watson, I think perhaps you should leave the deducing to the genius in the room. I also think that perhaps you should mind your own business." And with that he grabbed his clothes and his coat and tore through the apartment,dressing on his way out the door.

Damn that John Watson! he thought as he stormed down the sidewalk. Who does he think he is? He has no business coming into my room and undressing me! A blush crept its way up his neck and face as he pictured John doing just that. He shook the image from his head and kept internally raging. The chemicals I inject into my body are none of his concern! Although, that's just his being loyal and caring. Why does he have to be so bloody loyal and caring?! He's like a puppy. A sweet puppy with big, kind eyes. Stop it! Where did that come from? God! I could really go for a taste.

A few hours later, Sherlock returned home hoping that John had just forgotten the whole thing. No such luck, he thought as soon as he walked in and found John facing the door, obviously intent on pickng up where they had left off.  
"John, please, may I just have a cuppa before you start in again?"  
"Why?" John asked, clearly upset. "Because I have been walking through London for hours and I am parched." "No. I want to know why, Sherlock. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why didn't you come to me? I'm a doctor, I have experience with this. I did a short residency in a drug facility I could have helped." Upon hearing this, Sherlock froze. He slowly turned back towards John, forgetting the tea and feeling his lip curl into a snarl. "Why? You want to know why? And you think you could have helped? HA! John Watson, I believe with all my heart that you're the last person in the world that could help. Not that I needed any. And as for why, if you want to know that you need only look into a mirror because you, John, are why!!!"


	3. I'm the reason you do heroin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's a wee bit taken aback by the accusation

John sat back, clearly shocked and stung by the accusation Sherlock had just hurled at him. His jaw dropped and he looked so vulnerable Sherlock wanted to take it all back. Now where did that come from? He wondered. Sherlock Holmes almost never regretted shouting the truth at someone. In fact, he did it regularly without giving it a second thought. What was this power this short, serious, troubled man held over him? 

"Me?" John asked, standing to take a step towards Sherlock before taking another one back. "Me? I am the reason you went out and scored heroin and brought it back into our home and shot it into your body and nearly drowned in a bathtub? I'm to blame? Tell me how exactly you have come to that conclusion." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had been trying to figure out pretty much the same thing for 32 days. He decided to just tell John the truth as he knew it.

"You know I have a tendency to become obsessed." John nodded aggressively. "Heroin helps me to become a little less focused on one thing." John looked confused. "I can't get you out of my head." John sat back down and Sherlock followed suit. "Since the night at the pool, you are all I think about. I don't understand what is hapening inside my brain and that is not a situation I am familiar or comfortable with. When I saw the bomb, I panicked. I do not panic. When I knew you were finally safe, I felt relieved. I do not care if people are safe. When Moriarty fled, I did not care. You were all I cared about. I do not care about people, I care about the work. I sit here, every day, and I think and I think and I think about why. Why did I care? Why was I afraid for you? Why did I let Moriarty get away? Why do you care for me? Why do I so admire the way you have stood by my side? Why do I suddenly sense you coming up the stairs? Why am I acutely aware of your absence? Why do I see your face, feel your fear when I dream of you by the pool? Why do I dream of you by the pool? And why, in Gods name, do I wake from these dreams longing to run to your room to see that you're still there?"

Throughout all of this, John did not blink, did not move a muscle. And when he opened his mouth to speak, he realized he was holding his breath. After letting it out in a huge whoosh, he opened his mouth again. And shut it. And opened it. And shut it again. Finally he said "I think....I think, Sherlock, that you may like me." Sherlock looked at him as though realizing again that John was stupid. "Obviously, I like you, John. You are my friend, you are my flatmate. I wouldn't live with someone I did not like.". "No, Sherlock, I meant....I think, maybe, you're keen on me." Sherlock still looked confused so John gave him one, then another very pointed look. Suddenly, Sherlock realized what John was saying. His eyes widened but he did not say a word. He mentally went through every piece of information he had ever gathered regarding love, lust and 'liking' someone. How on earth had that happened? And how had it slipped by him? And why, dear God, why had he just laid it all out for John Watson to piece together? 

He thought back over every second of their friendship so far. There were no signs of anything of this ridiculous nature forming inside him. How had this happened? John sat staring at Sherlock and Sherlock felt that blush creeping up his face again. No. No. Sherlock Holmes does not do this. Sherlock Holmes does not feel attraction. Although, he would have to say that if he did have to feel it, someone as kind and caring and just plain old good as John would be his preference. Not to mention the fact that although Sherlock was often ignorant of beauty, he was not ignorant of John's. It wasn't so much the physical features of his new and only friend, but the way he held himself, the way he respected those around him in a way Sherlock never could. Stop it! No! This sort of feeling is for ordinary people and why is John staring at you? Oh....you still haven't responded.

"John...I...I think you must be mistaken." "Sherlock, I'm not gay." At this, Sherlock reddened again. Not from embarassment now but anger. "Yes! Yes, I know! You've made it abundantly clear to anyone at all who will listen! For the record, neither am I! I'm not even straight! I'm not bisexual or transsexual or trysexual or sexual in any way! Yet here I am with you telling me that I like you but that you're not gay! So thankyou, very much, for pointing out two very useless pieces of information to me that I will now have to delete from my hard drive to make room for more important matters. Good day!" And he stood and made his way for the door.

Before he could get there however, John struck out like a snake and coiled his hand around Sherlock's arm and spun him. Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were about 5 inches apart.   
"Perhaps you could allow me, just once, to finish a sentence?" John said, his voice dripping with fury. "As I was going to say...I am not gay. But I think I finally get what has been going on around here. Irene Adler, she called it. She said that you and I were a couple and that my sexuality had nothing to do with it. Just as she was a gay woman in love with you, I think I am a straight man in the same predicament." Sherlock's jaw dropped. "Yes, Sherlock, I said it. I think I'm in love with you. And so does everyone else. You've heard them all, snickering at us, making jokes. Although I don't think its funny. Because I dont know how to handle this feeling any more than you do. Its not something I ever anticipated and I'm sure one hundred percent you never did either." 

"No. No this is certainly not something I ever foresaw. So what do we do?". John suddenly looked so sad, Sherlock wanted to hug him. Well, at least now I can explain that feeling, he thought. "Sherlock, I don't think there is anything we can do. I care for you, very deeply. More deeply than I care to admit. But this....this isn't in either of us to follow through with it. I don't think I can be in a relatioship with a man. And I don't think you can be in a relationship with anybody. You said it yourself...you're not a sexual person. I am, though. I love sex. I love sex with women. I don't know if I could ever have sex with a man and I know you couldn't. I think this is something you and I need to learn to get over. Whatever it is between us, we need to get over it. I think identifying it is a good start on that road.". Sherlock took a step back. He knew John was right. John was a good man. He deserved to be with someone who could make him happy, not a highly functioning sociopath. "Yes, John. That is precisely what we need to do. Put it out of our minds." "Right. And you! You will not be sticking any more needles into yourself to achieve that, do you hear me?" Sherlock went to protest, to tell him that it really was none of his concern but John wouldn't have it. "No! No more heroin or so help me, Sherlock, I will call Mycroft. I will call him and I will tell him everything and I will tell him to call your Mummy and tell her and she will come and they will take you somewhere where you won't be able to hurt yourself anymore." With that, John went into his room and did not reemerge.


	4. I don't know how to handle this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up hearing Sherlock screaming his name and the situation comes to a head.

Later that night, Sherlock lay in his bed thinking about the day's events. He went over his conversation with John again and again. So, the Great Sherlock Holmes had a heart after all. Maybe Moriarty had seen it. Maybe that's why he picked John as his last target in the bomb game. Maybe that's what he was referring to when he told Sherlock he would burn the heart out of him. He would burn John. How had this happened? How had Sherlock gone and fallen in love? These sorts of things had never made sense to him before. He knew that he was strange because of this. He knew it meant there was something wrong with him and there were times when he wished he could be normal if only so that people would stop looking at him like he was a robot or so that people like Sally Donovan would stop calling him freak. Yes, he pretended not to care what they said but deep down, it got to him. Why couldn't he care for people? Now he knew. Because he had never met anyone like John Watson. 

In the room upstairs, John had just finally fallen asleep. His own realization...that he was indeed feeling something far more than friendship for this strange brilliant man...was weighing heavily on him. Why? Why did this have to happen to him? John had never been homophobic, not ever. But he had always felt a sense of pity for gay men and women. He knew the way a lot of people looked at them. He felt sad for them that every time they left their house with their loved one,a certain percentage of people in the outside world would stare, would mock, would say or think hurtful, cruel things. He didn't think he could bear that sort of scrutiny. He knew Sherlock wouldn't be up for it, anyway. The man may be starting to feel something for John but what in God's name can a machine really feel? No. It was better to move past it. And they would.

He was standing by the pool. John came out of the shadows and just stared at Sherlock. For a moment, Sherlock was in shock. It can't be! He trusted this man! He can't be Moriarty. Then John started to talk. His speech was all off. Halting, with a tinge of curiosity. As if he didn't know which words would fall from his mouth next. Suddenly, everything was clear. He was speaking for someone else. Everything happened so fast after that. Gay Jim making his presence known,the big speech and then...shots fired. Straight to John's heart and Sherlock felt his own heart burst into flames as John fell. And Sherlock screamed.

John sat straight up in bed. What on earth was that? he wondered. Then he heard it again. Sherlock was screaming his name. Like a flash John raced downstairs and burst into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was thrashing on the bed, clutching his pillow, drenched in sweat. John flicked on a light and tried to shake Sherlock awake. Sherlock's eyes suddenly popped open and he grabbed hold of John's tee shirt. Eyes wild, he screamed "I'll kill you!!!! I will find you!!! I will find you, Moriarty and I will tear your throat out!!!!" "Sherlock, its me!!! It's John!!! Wake up!!!!" Sherlock blinked his eyes a few times as John came into focus. "Oh my God, John!!" He threw John onto the floor, jumped down on top and pulled John's shirt over is head. Jesus Christ, John thought, what is happening? But Sherlock wasn't doing what John thought he was. He was running his eyes over John's chest, then his back, then his chest again. Finally, he released John and crawled back onto his bed, taking deep breaths. John went and sat on the edge.

"Were you dreaming about the pool again?" he asked. "Yes. You were shot this time." "I wasn't, though. I'm okay. We are both okay.". "No. I am not okay. I dont do this, John. I dont feel. I certainly don't feel for people. I've never experienced this before. You have. Tell me how to make it go away." "You think I've experienced this before? Are you joking? Sherlock, this is all new to me and I don't like it any more than you do. Never in my life have I thought 'yeah, that man is stunning.' Never have I wondered what it would be like to feel a man's lips against mine. Never have I wondered what it would be like to run my hands over smooth hard flesh instead of soft curvy skin. Or how I would like to be underneath a man's heavy body or feel a hot hard cock slide into me. At least, not until I met you." 

At this, Sherlock's lungs seemed to give out. Where had that come from? One second they were talking about feelings and the next, John was talking about Sherlock's cock. He stared at John, unable to respond. He did, however, feel something he hadn't felt since he was about 14. A very definite tightening in his groin. Well, that was a strange sensation. He looked down, without an ounce of subtelty, and back up to John, who also looked straight to Sherlock's lap. Their eyes met. "I don't think I can fight this anymore," Sherlock said. Then he leaned over and hovered about an inch from John's mouth. "May I?" he asked. John knew that if he did this, there may be no going back. He moved his head further from Sherlock's, closed his eyes, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sherlock," he said, and Sherlock stood. "No need, John. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that I just...I don't know what I was thinking. Go back to bed. I'm okay now."

John stared at Sherlock. What was he doing? Here was this man, this brilliant, amazing, inspiring man...wanting him. A man who didn't want anyone wanted him. And he wanted him too. So what was the problem? What did it matter what people would think? And when did John start caring about that? "Come here, now." he said to his best friend. Sherlock sat back down and John reached for his hands. Holding both of Sherlock's hands in his, he looked directly into his eyes. "I don't know how this works. You being asexual, I mean. Do you ever....?" "Ever what?" "Get turned on? Have sex? Have you ever had sex? Have you ever kissed anyone? Have you ever wanked?" Sherlock blushed for the third time that day. "Don't be so crass, John, it doesn't suit you. But, to answer your questions, yes, no, no, no, yes. I get turned on. Sometimes. I am human, contrary to people's jokes. But not the way most people do. I am a virgin. I have not kissed anyone because up until this point the idea of someone's saliva in my mouth makes me feel like vomitting. I have not wanked in years, I find it degrading and dull." "Up until this point?" "Well, obviously I wanted to kiss you a few minutes ago." "So the idea of my saliva in your mouth...?" Sherlock felt another tightening in his groin and he stared blankly at John. With a groan, John pressed his lips against Sherlock's. 

Oh. My. God. Sherlock thought. His eyes were wide open, staring over John's shoulder as John stayed perfectly still with his mouth placed firmly on Sherlock's. Then Sherlock blinked, took a deep breath through his nose and opened his mouth. John gasped as he opened his and suddenly they were kissing. John's lips moved against Sherlock's and all he could think was how silky his lips were, where he thought they would be rough. Next he took Sherlock's lower lip into his mouth and sucked and Sherlock let out a soft little moan as he slipped it back out. Sherlock pulled away from the kiss and sat back on his haunches. John couldn't tear his eyes from Sherlock's red, swollen bottom lip. When he could, he looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. "Was that okay?" Sherlock blinked a few times and grabbed hold of John's shoulders, pulling him in for another deep, passionate kiss. It was then that John realized his shirt was still on the floor, leaving him in only his boxers. He decided this simply was not fair and moved to remove Sherlock's. Sherlock broke away again when John grabbed the hem of his tee and pushed John to the floor.

"I'm sorry! Sorry! Reflex..." he said. John looked up at him and laughed. "It's okay, Sherlock. I shouldn't have made any sudden movements." He got off the floor and crawled back to Sherlock's side. He reached out and caressed the side of Sherlock's face. He slowly ran his hand down Sherlock's shoulder, over his ribcage and to his shirt hem again, never taking his eyes off Sherlock's. This time, Sherlock closed his eyes and raised his arms allowing John to free him of the thin cotton. His nipples instantly hardened in the cold and he felt goosebumps raise all over his body. John took no time at all to realize this and dragged his hands to rub up and down his arms while still staring into his eyes. He ran his hands up over Sherlock's shoulders and around his neck as he went in for another kiss. This time, when Sherlock opened his mouth, John sliped his tongue into his mouth just the tiniest bit. Sherlock groaned and let his tongue do a little exploring of its own, just lightly caressing John's without leaving his own mouth. This time it was John who broke away. "Okay. You're lying. You have kissed before." Sherlock laughed at this but shook his head no. "I don't believe it. You're too good." "I am an extremely observant man, John, and I do watch quite a lot of tv."

John chuckled and laid out next to Sherlock. Sherlock stared down at him wondering what was to come next. "Um, John, I...I don't know how to do this." "Ssshhh...Sherlock, I just want to kiss you some more. In a more comfortable position. Here, lie down." John turned over on his left side and Sherlock lay down on his right. John scooted as close to Sherlock as he could get, and very suddenly thrust his leg between Sherlock's. He threw one arm across Sherlock's waist and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Sherlock moaned as John thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and licked the roof. He couldn't believe this was happening. 24 hours ago he was in a heroin induced slumber trying to shake John Watson from his mind and now he was curled up in bed with him, practically grinding his leg with his tongue in his mouth. His cock stirred. John definitely felt that and rubbed his leg unwittingly against it. Sherlock bucked and John groaned. Once again he pulled away. "Sherlock, I...I..." "Hush. No need. I think we should take this very slowly." With that, John sat up. "I think I should go to my room before things get a little out of control here." 

The next morning, John awoke with a start. Had last night really happened? He felt as though it had to be a dream, but when he took a sip from the glass of water on his bedside table, he realized his lips were still a little sensitive and swollen in a way only a night of snogging could induce. He climbed out of bed and crept toward the door, listening for signs that Sherlock had woken. He was worried that today might be awkward. Maybe last night's snog only happened because of Sherlock's nightmare. Maybe, in the light of day, it will all seem absurd. Upon hearing nothing downstairs, John eased the door open and crept down to the kitchen to make a cuppa. What he saw there sent him reeling. 

Sitting at the counter in the kitchen was a man who could only be Sherlock Holmes. But this could not be Sherlock Holmes because this man was staring intently at a computer screen while taking notes on what he watched. And what he was watching was some very very gay porn.


	5. Don't label yourself, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds Sherlock watching gay porn and things get a little messy. Where will the Baker Street Boys decide to go from here? And why is Mycroft so judgy?

"Oh my God!" John shouted, completely by accident. Sherlock jumped about ten feet in the air, dropped his cigarette, knocked over the computer and pulled the headphones out in the process. The sound of two men very engrossed in eachother's penises filled the air and John scrambled to turn it off. Sherlock stood there, a very pretty shade of red coloring every inch of flesh John could see. Once the computer was fully off (John had removed the battery) and Sherlock's cigarette was removed from the floor where it was burning a hole in the linoleum, they stood awkwardly for a moment, refusing to look at eachother. Then they both spoke at once.

"I was just..."  
"I'm sorry. I..."  
"It's for a case..."  
"What were you...oh."  
"It's for a case," Sherlock said again. John grinned and Sherlock, who had been returning to his natural shade, reddened again. "It isn't what you think." "I think you got a litle turned on last night and needed a wank." "John, I told you not to be so crass. Or repulsive. I would never 'wank' to that disgusting video."  
John was a little surprised. Well, he thought he was surprised to find Sherlock watching porn but it made sense once he got past the idea that it was Sherlock watching porn. He had felt pretty horny this morning himself. Only natural. But if he wasn't wanking, what was he doing? "Disgusting? They were just giving eachother blowjobs. And why were you watching it if it disgusts you?" And if this thing between us goes somewhere will you refuse to give me one because I rather like that, is what he didn't say. Sherlock sighed and looked at the ground. "Sherlock?" "I don't think this up for discussion, John. I'm sorry I dropped your computer, I'll pay for the repairs." And he sulked off to his bedroom leaving John holding a still burning cigarette and a computer probably riddled with porn viruses.

John needed to think clearly, without the sound of Sherlock's violin filling the apartment. He also thought that maybe he should have a chat with someone about these new developments in is life. Falling for a man, a slightly mad, completely brilliant man, was a pretty big deal. Especially when all you'd ever been interested in before were women. Unfortunately, John had few friends. Mrs. Hudson would never be able to stop squealing if John told her. LeStrade would also probably cheer and carry on like an ass if he found out. Molly would cry hysterically and Sherlock obviously knew but was not the person to talk to. Yet. But, oh, they would talk about this. So John did what he felt was mostly unnecesary but sometimes quite helpful: he popped in at his therapist's. 

"So...what brings you here today, John?" "Short version? Yesterday I found out my best friend is on heroin again and that I am the reason why. I am the reason why because he is keen on me and wasn't actually aware of it until he spelled it out for me and then I spelled it out for him. I also realized that I am quite keen on him and we snogged last night and it scares me and I know it scares him. And I think he may want to have sex because I caught him watching gay porn but he said it disgusts him so maybe he doesn't and both those ideas scare me, too." John sat back and took a deep breath while his therapist calmly took all of that in. "So, what you're telling me is that you've discovered an interest in Sherlock and it frightens you because he's a man?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because I'm straight." "John, it isn't about gay or straight. You don't have to tape a label on yourself and stay true to it every day of your life. Sherlock is your best friend. You care for him. He cares for you. Your life has been better, you have been better, since you met him. He gives you a sense of purpose again. He takes you on adventures, keeps you on your toes in a way you have missed since leaving the Army. He makes you laugh. He makes you want to learn more about him. It is only natural that feelings would develop. And if they aren't completely plutonic feelings? Then that is natural, too. People become attracted to people and it doesn't always make sense. A tall man may fall in love with a dwarf. A correctional officer may fall in love with her prisoner. A man may fall in love with his sociopath of a flatmate. Who is also a man. These things happen. If he loves you back, and you can see a future in it, I urge you to give it a shot."

John headed back to 221B Baker Street with a sense of purpose. He and Sherlock were going to discuss last night, and they were going to discuss what happened this morning. But when John walked in, Mycroft Holmes was standing over a very annoyed looking Sherlock. "Doctor Watson," Mycroft said snottily. "I presume you know why I am here." "Can't say that I do, Mycroft." "Really? So you weren't aware Little Brother was back on the sauce?" John froze. That was another thing he had wanted to discuss a little more that afternoon. Now he was worried that Sherlock may not be around to discuss it. "Mycroft, I am not back on the sauce. I had a slip. It is over. I have figured out the cause of my distress, I will handle it from here." "What was the cause of your distress?" Sherlock looked at John who looked at the floor. Mycroft noticed. "John? What did he do?" John heard a hint of the brotherly concern in Mycroft's voice. "Nothing. He did nothing. It was my fault, I missed something." "I'm confused." "You should be used to that" Mycroft sighed and straightened up a bit. "Fine, Sherlock. Whatever you say. I will go. I can see I am not wanted. But I have my eye on you. Buying heroin on the street like a bum? Tsk, tsk. I know everything that happens in this city, Sherlock. Doctor Watson, please do as I have asked and look after this one." And with that, Mycroft Holmes left the building.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to stomp off to his room. "Wait!" John said, a little louder than intended.  
Sherlock froze but did not turn. "I wanted to talk to you." "There is no need John I can deduce what you have to say." "Oh?" Now Sherlock did turn. He took on The Look and stared straight at John. "You have been out since the episode this morning where you misunderstood what I was watching on your computer. You have obviously been to your therapist judging by the way you have been biting your nails which you only do on days you see her. Also, you smell like the air fragrance that squirts out of a dispenser on her desk every 60 seconds. It hits you 50 times and you always reek of it when you come home. You have come to tell me that you regret what happened last night, that it was a knee jerk reaction to my nightmare and that today you were so traumatized by what you saw you would rather put every word spoken yesterday out of your mind and pretend it all never happened." John took a step back and then about three steps forward, finger outstretched. "Sherlock Holmes, you stupid git! You think you are so damn clever! But you couldn't be further from the truth this time! Why do even think that?" "Maybe because the second you snog me you run to your psychiatrist!" John had to admit Sherlock had him there. And he had run there hoping she could talk him out of this whole thing. But he was still angry, because he felt that Sherlock was maybe projecting a little. 

"Okay, yeah. I ran off to my shrink. You're right about that. But I wasn't traumatized by anything. I think you were. I don't know if it was the porn, or me catching you watching it. But last night, you seemed keen enough and this morning you shut me out and now you're trying to put words in my mouth." "I was not traumatized. I...I was...repulsed. By the porn. It was disgusting. And I was humiliated that you caught me watching it." "Why were you watching it to begin with?" "I need to learn exactly what I will be expected to do." "Oh, Sherlock. Please come sit on the couch with me." "No." "Sherlock."   
The two of them went into the living room and sat next to eachother on the couch. John turned to face Sherlock and Sherlock stared at the wall. "Sherlock, listen to me. I went to see my therapist today because I didn't know how to handle this thing that has suddenly been thrust between you and I. Am I hesitant? Yes. But not just because you're a man, although it is a factor. It's because it's you. You're my best friend. We live together, we work together. There is a lot at stake here. And I am frightened. I'm frightened by the idea of one of us or both of us getting hurt. I'm frightened that these feelings of yours may be a fleeting experiment. And I'm frightened by the idea of sex with you. Which leads me to my next point. There is no cause for talk of sex. Not yet. And you don't need to be watching porn to find out what is expected of you. That will all come with time. If we are to do this, I want it to go in the normal way. We see where it goes. We take it one step at a time. I know we have known eachother for a while but we need to get to know eachother in a new way. And that will take time. We will have sex if and when we are ever ready to. And I don't know how it will go. But I do know that while this is a somewhat new concept to me, it is entirely new to you. And I need to know now: is it something you even want to consider? Or does it freak you out too much and you would rather move on now?"

Sherlock didn't quite know what to say. To be perfectly honest, he was still trying to comprehend the fact that they were having this conversation. Everything he thought he knew about himself had been flipped over and shaken in the coarse of just a few days. These sort of talks, these feelings of uncertainty, of selfconciousness and longing and lust were exactly what he had been trying to avoid these last 35 years. He did know that John had ben right. He was very keen on him. He did care for John in a way he had never cared for anyone before. And that was worth some further investigation. It didn't matter why he had not seen it sooner, he saw it now.


	6. Isn't sex supposed to be about love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a little chat about what's going on between them and what might go on later.

"John. Yesterday, you said you thought you might be in love with me. Is that true?" John swallowed, he rather wished he hadn't said that. It didn't exactly fall in line with the natural order of things he was trying to establish. At the time, it was a necessary statement, to shake Sherlock from the denial he was trying to acquire. "I only ask because...if we do this...that's what will happen. I will fall in love with you. I know enough about these things to know that if two people go completely against their natures for eachother, love is the logical endpoint. Can you handle that?" "Can you answer my question?" "You first." "No. I asked mine first. You answer." "No, John. I'm giving you my answer. I won't sleep with someone who may or may not love me after...or preferrably during." Sherlock had a point there. He needed, deserved, to share his first time with a lover, not a friend with questionable feelings. "Okay. Your way. Yes. I meant what I said. But its too soon to go saying things like that." "I completely agree. I just needed to know if it was true. So...where do we go from here?" John rather liked that question. He had the perfect answer.

He stood and reached for Sherlock's hand who gave it, albeit a bit hesitantly. John led him to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed. "Don't look so frightened. I'm not trying to plunder your virtue." John pushed Sherlock down onto his side and crawled in next to him. He placed his leg where it had been before. It wasn't a sexual thing, it was John's favorite way to cuddle. To be as close as possible to someone without being actually inside them. He stretched his arm above his head and ruffled Sherlock's curls. He loved those curls. They made Sherlock look rather...pretty. His other hand reached over and wrapped around Sherlock's waist and stared into his eyes. They had done this before, stared at eachother. Often. John often felt Sherlock taking him in when he thought John wasn't paying attention. It always gave John goosebumps and he was just beginning to understand why. John also had a tendency to stare at Sherlock, and he was sure it had not gone unnoticed. Not many things did. He never thought about it, never connected any dots. Sherlock was brilliant, beautiful, ofcoarse he stared. A lot of people did.

Sherlock reached over and wrapped his arm around John, trying to follow his lead. Realizing you're falling in love for the first time was one thing, but showing it physically after 35 years of finding physical love repelling was another. He had no idea where his hands were supposed to go, how long he was allowed to take John in without it being "creepy". Obviously longer than he thought as John was still staring at him. "You're beautiful," he heard him say. Sherlock's breath hitched. He'd been told that before, usually in reference to his mind. Sometimes by women. But those women generally only wanted a shag, and upon hearing Sherlock degrade that want, promptly took it back. But when John said it, he knew it meant so much more. 

"Sherlock...I..." John cleared his throat and tried again. "I want to completely eliminate talk of sex before its proper time, but in order to do that, I need to know: why were you so repulsed by what you watched this morning?" Sherlock blinked. He thought that conversation was over. But he thought he understood why John was asking. "I thought sex was supposed to be about love." "It is." "But those men did not love eachother. They degraded eachother. The common theme in every video I watched was degredation, and pain." "Pain?" "Yes. Pain in the title, in the descriptions. In the dialogue. They all seemed to be in pain and they enjoyed it. They said filthy things to eachother. There was no evidence of love in any of it. It was sweaty and loud and repulsive. The camera shots and the zooms. It was all incredibly degrading. If that is what sex is, I have to wonder why people enjoy it so." John was a bit taken aback. This is why he didn't want Sherlock watching porn to learn what was expected of him. Because John did not expect him to be a porn star. And he certainly hoped nobody expected that of him because he was not. John liked to make love. Yes, ofcoarse, he could get a little wild. Drunk sex, angry sex, wild passionate first time meeting someone in a bar sex. He'd had it all. But Sherlock was right, what people did in porn had nothing to do with love. "Sherlock, it won't be that way with us. It isn't like that for most people. Those videos....they're made with wanking in mind. The angles, the zooms...they're not realistic. And no, those people are not in love. They are actors, getting paid. Most of the time they meet five minutes before stuffing their cocks in eachother's mouths. That's why they're so degrading to eachother. Because they are degraded. And because people...some people...like that. The viewers, that is. It helps get them off." 

"Do you like that?" John knew better than to give the honest answer too quickly. But he didn't really know how to say it properly so he went with "Sometimes." Sherlock looked like he was deeply disappointed in John as a person and tried to push away from him but John held on, wrapping his ankle around Sherlock's foot for a stronger hold. "Now wait just a minute, let me explain." "You don't have to. Its fine. You can't help what you like. I just don't think I can have a part in it." "Sherlock, Jesus, will you listen? Its not like that. Look, sometimes...sometimes people get horny. For no reason whatsoever, they just get horny. And they don't always have someone to help them with that. So they watch porn and they masturbate. But...but its not always easy to get hard, or to get off, without another human being. So...porn tends to be a bit more intense. And, I don't much like admitting it, but sometimes, yeah, seeing a girl get slapped with a cock or hearing her talk about how his cock is so big it hurts but she loves it...it helps intensify things so that you can cum. Don't give me that look just because you're such a a bloody genius you don't need to drain the sack every once in a while. I don't want anything of the sort with you and most people never do anything like that in real life. I have no desire to cockslap you, degrade you, and I certainly never want to hurt you. Do you believe me?" "I was under the impression pain was inevitable." "I don't know if that's true. But, if it worries you, I'll go first. Do you believe that I'll never do those things to you?" "Your heart rate says you're telling the truth." "I'm gonna accept that, because I want to snog you again, but next time I ask you to believe me, I want you to do it because you trust me."

Sherlock was really glad that conversation was over. It wasn't like he hadn't started contemplating sex with John, and he wasn't ignorant. He knew a lot about the subject. He knew a lot about a lot of things. But talking about it this way, with John, in a not so hypothetical manner, was a bit more than he was ready for. Snogging, though, he liked that. He never thought he would but when John pulled his lip into his mouth, his whole body tingled. It reminded him of...no. Probably shouldn't think about that. It would make him want it and that would make John furious. No, much better to settle for kissing John.


	7. Fish and chips, no curry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a bit of an episode but don't worry, he and Sherlock kiss and make up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit blocked, guys. Leave some comments I need some motivation :)

A couple weeks later, Sherlock was hanging around Baker Street waiting for John to come home from the surgery. They had had a row the day before about Sherlock smoking while still wearing the nicotine patches John had bought him and John had gone around paying everyone in the neighborhood if they agreed not to sell Sherlock any cigarettes. His concern over Sherlock was really very maddening sometimes. Especially since he basically refused to touch him ever since John' little episode last week. They had been lying in Sherlock's bed, snogging, which is as far as they had gotten and had really only done a few times. John seemed to understand immediately that if Sherlock was working, the last thing he would be interested in was anything physical. But when they did have these little sessions, they went at it rather hard. John was learning that Sherlock liked him to be a bit aggressive. He would bite and nip and suck at Sherlock's lips and Sherlock would take it, basically in shock, while moaning and trying to grow accustomed to the tightening in his groin. During one of these such nights, Sherlock gained what could only be described as a raging hard-on and thrust it against John's leg. John instinctively reached down and when he did, he suddenly jerked his hand back and pulled away from Sherlock. "I'm sorry!" Sherlock said, though he wasn't sure exactly why. Did he do something wrong? "Its okay..its just, umm...your...shit. I'm sorry." John got up and went upstairs to take a shower. As he jogged up the stairs he ran a hand through his hair and muttered a curse or two. He hadn't meant to freak out like that. He'd been so caught up in the moment, when he reached down and felt Sherlock's dick it startled him. He didn't think he'd been expecting a twat but he wasn't entirely expecting a cock. John Watson what the hell is wrong with you? he thought.

Now it had been a full week later and they hadn't so much as sat less than two feet from eachother while watching the telly. But if Mrs. Hudson thought they were a couple before, she knew it now. They had been having "domestics" as she liked to call them every night since, the latest being on Sherlock's smoking. "I don't like kissing an ashtray, Sherlock! And I won't like hooking up your oxygen machine one day!" Because Sherlock wasn't sure that John would ever kiss him again and because he definitely wasn't sure John would be around long enough to see Sherlock need oxygen, he simply rolled his eyes and went back to his microscope. John said "Fine. I'll handle this." And stormed out of the apartment carrying the jar of emergency cash. How he would handle it was beyond Sherlock. Until he went out later to buy a pack and was informed by the clerk that John had paid him, and everyone else, to keep the cigarettes far from Sherlock Holmes. Madenning.  
So while Sherlock waited for John to come home so that he could pounce on him and demand some nicotine, he decided to play his violin. Composing helped him get lost and would stave the craving a bit. 

John trudged up the stairs to 221B after a very long day at the surgery. He had tomorrow off and was grateful. He needed it. Ever since that night a week ago, he'd felt very tense which made him very sore which did not help him stand around all day at work. He stopped outside the flat when he heard Sherlock's violin. He loved listening to the man. He loved watching him play, too, although it was only recently that he understood his fascination with it. He realized he hadn't heard this piece before and when he heard Sherlock play the same part a few times with slight variations, it dawned on him he must be composing. Great. Probably in a nicotine fit, he thought. He pushed open the door and tried to sneak upstairs for a shower when Sherlock's playing abruptly stopped. "Give me some," he said. "No." And John jogged quickly up before Sherlock could tackle him, listening as he picked up his violin and continued with his composition. 

Once his hair was washed and every ounce of the day's various mishaps washed from his body, John stood under the hot water and tried to ease the tension from his shoulders. It had been a long week. No cases made Sherlock very antsy and John knew he was wondering, but would not mention, what was keeping John at bay. He had decided that he was being a prat, but every time he went to touch Sherlock, the memory of the feel of a hot heavy cock in his hand gave him pause. It wasn't as though he had never touched one. He was a doctor, after all. But those were never hard, always a little more than flaccid as the patient was usually quite uncomfortable under Doctor Watson's scrutiny. It was a bit odd, new, yes. But what really had him disturbed was the idea of what do I do with it? It can't be that hard, he thought, you do have one of your own. He closed his eyes and reached his hand down, trying to imagine it was Sherlock's instead of his own. He palmed himself until he had worked it into a rather impressive hard on. Having not done this for a while, he knew he wouldn't last long. He tried to go slow, gently stroking himself. He gave his wrist a few turns on the upstroke and ran his thumb over the slit. It did not last long at all and he quickly found himself grappling for a hold as he came hot and hard over his fist. He really hoped that given the chance, he could make Sherlock last a bit longer. 

Sherlock sat his violin down and resigned himself to pacing a bit around the flat. He needed a distraction, needed a case. When John emerged a few moments later, wearing only sweatpants and obviously nothing else, Sherlock pounced. "You've just masturbated in the shower." John flinched and looked at Sherlock as if he'd just announced he shot heroin again. "Your cheeks are flushed." "It was a very hot shower." "Your penis is still semi erect I can tell because you're not wearing pants. Your heart rate is elevated as is your breath rate. The tension is gone from your shoulders, you aren't standing up straight anymore which means your legs have gone a bit 'jelly' and your mouth isn't set as it was when you arrived home." "Maybe I just had a nice shower." "A very nice shower." "Sherlock..." John was going to tell Sherlock how rude it was to call someone out for masturbating but, frankly, was tired of arguing with him. He had had a nice shower and it had helped clear his mind a bit in regards to that whole dating a man thing he was trying to get used to. So he said instead, "Let's try to have a nice night, hmm? I'll get some curry and a few beers and maybe we could watch a movie together?" Sherlock wasn't quite sure how to respond. On one hand, he wanted to spend some time with John, on the other, he really wanted a cigarette and thought he could nag John until he relented but then John would be angry and would go sulk in his room like he had been for days. "Okay. But no curry. Fish and chips." "Deal."

An hour later, John and Sherlock were settled on the couch together with their dinner and a DVD. John had thought better of the beer, which Sherlock didn't particularly like, and opted for a bottle of white wine instead. He wanted them to be relaxed this evening, as he had decided to stop shunning Sherlock and try to resume their budding relationship. After they had finished eating, John cleared the takeaway bins and, upon coming back to the couch, curled up right next to Sherlock. Sherlock froze, not sure what had changed, so John took him by the arm and slung it across his own shoulders. They had lit a fire shortly after arriving home from the video store and it was very warm and cozy inside the flat, making John feel all the more cuddly. As John snuggled into Sherlock's chest, he made a small contented sound at the back of his throat. This, he thought, I can do all day. Sherlock looked down at him. He wasn't sure why John was suddenly making contact again, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He wasn't even going to ask because that would inevitably lead to some sort of relationship conversation and he abhorred those more than he abhorred John basically ignoring him for a week. John decided his position wasn't the most comfortable and instead spread out on the couch, tucking his feet under him and laying his head in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock draped his arm over John and used the other to hand to gently run through John's hair. 

"Sherlock. Tell me something personal about you." Sherlock froze again. Something personal? He didn't think he had anything very personal to tell and what few facts there were, John already knew. "Tell me about your childhood," John said, knowing Sherlock didn't even know what personal meant, especially since he tended to air people's personals regularly. "My childhood was dull." "Tell me about it. Tell me about your parents." "Why?" "Because, Sherlock, this is what people do. They tell eachother things." "Okay. My mother was a mathemetician before Mycroft was born she was nothing but a mother after that and my father was her devoted slave with no spine." Your mother was a mathemetician?" I just said that." "Well that explains a lot. But you said she became nothing but a mother. So...you didn't go off to school?" "No." "Really?" "Why does that surprise you?" "I just figured you and Mycroft for the type to have gone off to school." "Well, we did go to prep, but we didn't board." "Were you and your mother close?" Sherlock looked down at John. He should know the answer to that. "I am not close to anyone, John." "You're close to me."   
"I think that says something, don't you?"

They stayed like that long into the night, cuddling by the fire and talking. Sherlock told John about his early days as an amateur detective and how he had decided that would be his job. John told Sherlock about his family growing up and how his parents had died when he was 17, leaving him to spend a year as Harry's ward before joining the Army. And so many other things. John thought he knew Sherlock better than anyone, and he did. But finally getting the man to shed some light on his life before Baker Street meant something to him. Finally, John started to close his eyes and his breathing deepened and slowed. "Don't go to sleep." "Mm..why not?" "Because the sun's coming up." "So?" "So...I don't want to be alone." John rolled onto his back and looked up at Sherlock. "Why not?" "I don't want this night to end yet." "Then kiss me."

Sherlock wasn't quite sure he'd ever get used to John saying things like that, not to him, but he wasn't about to let it go to waste. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against John's. John opened his mouth and sighed and Sherlock took the opportunity caress John's tongue with his own and John groaned, leaning up into the kiss. Sherlock pushed John back down with his mouth and held him there, rubbing his hands over Johns stomach and snogging him until John felt like he couldn't breathe. John liftd his hand and pushed Sherlock back. When the kiss broke, he sat up and took a deep breath, trying to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed and he felt absolutely like his whole body had turned to jello. How can a man who has never done this before be so good at it? John leaned over and grabbed hold of Sherlock's face, staring into his sky blue eyes. "Are we really doing this, you and I?" "We're really snogging, if thats is what you mean. Really, John, you are very obvious, sometimes." John smiled at that. "Not what I meant, Sherlock. I meant this...relationship. Is this really happening?" "Clearly. Now do that thing with my bottom lip." 

John pulled off his shirt and reached for Sherlock's, who clearly hesitated. He really enjoyed seeing John without a shirt. He was soft and tan but clearly had well defined muscles under just a little fat. Obviously a side effect of leaving the Army but still getting a bit of excercise. Sherlock felt too lean, too bony. Also, the skin to skin contact was a bit much for him. He liked to touch John with his hands but all that rubbing of skin...it felt odd to him. John saw the heistation and let it be. He kissed Sherlock again and without breaking away settled himself in Sherlock's lap. This was another favorite way of kissing for him, but really, he just liked kissing in general. Usually, though, he was the one being straddled. It usually worked better that way for the girl to grind into him instead of him sort of grinding into her stomach. All these thoughts about grinding brought John back to reality and he realized that he'd acquired quite the hard on. He broke the kiss and took Sherlock's hand. He put it on his thigh and slowly slid it to his groin, slowly so that Sherlock would know where he was headed and maybe wouldn't push John onto the floor or run away as John had. He pressed Sherlock's palm to his hardness and looked up at him. "I want you to remember this. The first time you made me hard." Sherlock pressed on it harder and kissed John roughly and quickly. "I think we'll both remember the first time YOU made ME hard." John pulled both their hands away and said "I'm sorry about that. That wasn't fair. I...I freaked out a little." "I know. It was obvious." "Yeah well...I don't really have an excuse. I...I'm new to this." "You aren't the only one." "Yeah...that freaks me out, too, though. I've never been with a man and I've never been with a virgin. I don't know what the hell I'm doing and you don't know what the hell you're doing so...I guess we're just gonna have to work out the schematics together?" "Or you could let me watch porn and I could..." "No! Sherlock, no porn." "Why? It's basically a how-to." "Its a 'how to freak Sherlock out and make him go back to life long celibacy.' No. Sod this. I'll handle it." John climbed off Sherlock and put on his shirt, grabbed his keys and walked out the door. Sherlock was rather dumbfounded.


End file.
